“That’s where his insides go,” explained Murph.
Henry felt that he should have been able to see that without asking. It was some time before he got up courage to speak again. He did not want to risk any more foolish questions, so he asked, “What are you going to call him?” That should be a good safe question.
“Thorvo,” answered Murph.
“That’s a good name,” agreed Henry, feeling that Thorvo had an interesting outer-space sound appropriate to a robot. He waited hopefully, but Murph seemed too busy to talk. “Well, I guess I better be going,” said Henry finally. Then, in one last attempt to be neighborly, he added, “If you ever feel like a game of checkers, I live in that white house around on Klickitat Street.”
“Checkers?” repeated Murph absently. “I haven’t played checkers for a long time. Not since I learned to play chess.”
That settled it as far as Henry was concerned. Murph was a genius, a real brain. Chess at his age! Everyone knew chess was a game played by wise old men with beards. No wonder he was serious and did not say much. His mind was full of big, important things.
“So long, Murph,” said Henry, unable to keep the awe out of his voice. It must be wonderful to be a genius instead of an ordinary checker-playing boy. Murph could probably do anything he wanted to. If he needed something, all he had to do was invent it. And to think that he was going to live right here in the neighborhood!
Henry was sure he had not made a very good impression on Murph with his remarks about Thorvo’s looking like the Tin Woodman and his invitation to play an easy game like checkers. He hoped Murph would not think he was too dumb to associate with. Henry was anxious to watch the construction of Thorvo; there had never been anything like Thorvo in the neighborhood in all the time he could remember. He searched for something to say that would show Murph he wasn’t so dumb after all. “I’ll see you around,” he finally said. “I’m pretty busy after school, delivering papers.” That ought to show Murph he wasn’t so dumb. A boy with a paper route was pretty important.
“A route takes a lot of time,” agreed Murph, showing more interest than he had in anything Henry had said so far.
“I’m substituting for a couple of weeks,” said Henry, glad of the opportunity to talk about his work for a change. “Then one of the carriers is quitting, and I expect I’ll get his route.”
Instantly Henry was sorry he had spoken. Maybe this new boy was looking for a route, too. “Well, so long,” he said hastily, and coasted down the driveway.
Now I’ve gone and done it, thought Henry, as he rode home. Here he practically had a route of his own, and then he had to go and let this new boy, this brain, know that a carrier was giving up his route. How dumb can I get? Henry asked himself in disgust. Now Murph would probably go after the route, and what chance did Henry have against a brain who went around playing chess and inventing a robot named Thorvo? Not a chance, Henry decided. Not a chance at all. Murph would probably not only get the route, he would build a mechanical man to deliver the papers for him.
6
Ramona Takes Over
News of Byron Murphy, genius, quickly spread throughout the neighborhood. All the boys and girls for blocks around walked, roller-skated, or bicycled past Murph’s house several times a day, hoping to catch a glimpse of the new boy and his mechanical man. If they saw him working in the garage they gathered on the driveway a respectful distance away, to watch. As arms made out of pipes were added to the tin body, and the tin-can head was topped with an antenna, some were sure the robot would work when Murph finished it. Others scoffed at the whole idea.
There was one member of the neighborhood who did not stay a respectful distance from Murph. That was Ramona. She was not one bit awed by a genius. Clonking in her high-heeled shoes, she tagged around the garage after him. Of all the boys and girls, she was the only one who thought Tiger was a good name for a dog. She said that if she ever had a dog she was going to name it Tiger, after Murph’s dog. Murph ignored Ramona, but this did not bother her at all.
Henry could see that Beezus was ashamed to have a little sister who was such a nuisance to a genius at work. He felt like telling Ramona not to be such a pest, but he decided he had better keep still. He was as eager as the others to watch the progress of Thorvo, but at the same time he did not want to call attention to himself and perhaps start Murph thinking about a paper route.
Then one afternoon, when Henry had finished delivering Scooter’s papers, he went to the barbershop for a haircut. On the way home he saw Murph riding toward him on a bicycle, with Tiger puffing along half a block behind. Over Murph’s shoulders Henry was astonished to see an empty Journal bag. At the sight of that bag, Henry suddenly felt more cheerful than he had felt since Murph had moved into the neighborhood.
“Hi there, Murph,” Henry called out, with sudden enthusiasm. “I didn’t know you had a paper route. I’ve never seen you around Mr. Capper’s garage with the rest of the fellows.”
“My route is in my old neighborhood,” Murph explained.
“Oh,” was all Henry said, because he was busy thinking that he no longer had to worry about having a genius take a paper route away from him. Now he and Murph could be friends. Maybe Murph would even let him help work on Thorvo—not doing the hard parts, that took a lot of brains, but things like handing him wrenches and tightening screws. He could probably save Murph plenty of time. Henry Huggins, assistant to a genius—that’s what he would be.
And so on Saturday, when all the boys and girls in the neighborhood except Scooter—who was still confined to his house with chicken pox—gathered at Murph’s garage to watch the progress of Thorvo, Henry no longer felt that he had to be quiet. “What are you going to make his legs out of?” Henry asked.
“Pipe,” answered Murph. “Thick pipe, when I can find some.”
“Maybe I can find some for you,” said Henry eagerly.
“If you put a funnel on him for a hat, he would look like the Tin—” one of the girls started to suggest.
Henry interrupted to keep her from annoying Murph with what she was about to say. “There’s a plumber over by the supermarket,” he said quickly. “He might have some pieces of pipe you could have.”
Murph did not answer; he was too busy hunting for something in a box.
Beezus and Ramona came running up the driveway to join the rest of Murph’s audience. This time Ramona was not clonking along in high-heeled shoes. Instead, she had perched on her nose the frames of a pair of old sunglasses. They were much too big for her, and to keep them from falling off, the sidepieces were tied together at the back of her head with a piece of string.
I sure am glad she’s not my sister, thought Henry.
“I’m wearing glasses, like Murph,” announced Ramona happily.
“She kept asking and asking for a pair of glasses so she would look like Murph,” Beezus explained apologetically, “until Mother finally found an old pair and took the glass out for her.”
Murph paid no attention to his admirer. He found part of a string of old Christmas tree lights and fitted two of them into sockets in the robot’s head.
“Are his eyes going to light up?” asked Robert, with a touch of awe in his voice.
“Of course,” answered Murph.
“Oh, Murph!” exclaimed Beezus. “You can put in blue Christmas tree bulbs, and he’ll have blue eyes!”
“Thorvo’s eyes are going to be red,” stated Murph definitely.
Beezus looked embarrassed, as if she should have realized how silly she was to think a robot should have blue eyes.
“I think red eyes are pretty,” said Ramona, moving closer to Murph. As she stood by his elbow she began to practice whistling. She puckered up her mouth and blew, but no whistle came out. Then she tried sucking in through her puckered lips and succeeded in producing a hollow whistling sound, as if she were blowing across the mouth of a bottle. It was not a pleasant sound, but she liked it, and she repeated it over and over.
“Sh-h, Ramona!” whispered Beezus. “You might bother Murph.”
“Yes,” agreed Henry, not wanting to see genius disturbed. “You better keep quiet.”
But Ramona went right on with her whistling.
Between delivering Scooter’s papers and watching Murph’s progress on Thorvo, Henry found that time passed quickly. Finally the day arrived when Scooter was able to take over his route once more. On that day Henry went along with Scooter, who was once more his friend, to Mr. Capper’s garage. “Say, Mr. Capper,” he said, satisfied that he had done a good job on Scooter’s route, “I do get to take Chuck’s route, don’t I?”
Mr. Capper looked sympathetic—so sympathetic that Henry braced himself for a terrible disappointment. “Well, Henry, I’m afraid not,” Mr. Capper said kindly.
“You—you mean I don’t get the route after all?” stammered Henry, hoping that he had not understood Mr. Capper.
“I’m sorry, Henry,” answered Mr. Capper.
Miserable with disappointment, Henry stared at Mr. Capper. He was too overcome to say anything. He had been so sure, even though Mr. Capper had not made any promises, that this time he was going to get the route.
“Aw, Mr. Capper,” protested Scooter.
Henry felt encouraged at having Scooter stand up for him, instead of scoffing, as he usually did. “I—I thought you needed someone to take Chuck’s route,” he ventured.
“I did,” answered Mr. Capper. “But one of the other district managers phoned me about a boy in his district who wanted to shift to this neighborhood.”
“Oh,” said Henry miserably. So that was why some other boy was going to have the route. It was not anything that he had done wrong. All the same, Henry felt embarrassed. Everyone who knew how much he wanted a route would think it was pretty funny when someone else started delivering Journals. Everyone would think Mr. Capper didn’t want him to have the route.
Henry felt especially embarrassed to have the other carriers see his humiliation. If only he had come early and talked to Mr. Capper alone. Henry kicked miserably at the bag Scooter was filling with Journals.
All at once a terrible suspicion leaped into Henry’s mind. “Say, Mr. Capper, would you mind telling me the name of the new carrier?” he asked.
“Let’s see.” Mr. Capper frowned thoughtfully. “It was Bryan—no, that wasn’t it.”
“Byron Murphy?” prompted Henry.
“Yes. Yes, that’s the name,” agreed Mr. Capper.
So it was Murph, thought Henry bitterly. And after I offered to help him find some pipe for his robot’s legs, too. A fine friend he turned out to be!
“Is he someone you know?” Mr. Capper asked.
“Sort of,” muttered Henry. Well, Murph had the route and he did not, and there was nothing Henry could do about it. That in itself was enough to make him want to avoid the new boy. It wasn’t that Henry had done anything wrong; it was just that Murph had experience, and a district manager to speak for him. Naturally, thought Henry. A genius can do anything, anything at all.
After that Henry wished Murph had not moved into the neighborhood. The old genius, Henry thought crossly. It did not seem fair for Murph to have a paper route and be a genius, too. Every afternoon when Murph finished his route, Henry saw him ride down Klickitat Street with the empty Journal bag over his shoulders and Tiger puffing along behind. This made Henry feel worse. Once he rode past Murph’s house and yelled, “I hope your old robot doesn’t work!” No one heard him, but he felt better for having relieved his feelings.
Then one day when Henry was returning from a swim at the Y., he turned a corner near Beezus’s house and saw Ramona, with her arms full of Journals, skipping along the sidewalk. Murph was nowhere in sight.
That’s funny, thought Henry.
“Hey!” yelled Murph, appearing around the corner on his bicycle. “You come back with my papers!” When Ramona ran on down the street, Murph pursued her.
Well, what do you know, thought Henry, as he stopped his bicycle and sat with one foot against the curb to watch this interesting scene.
When Murph caught up with Ramona, he jumped off his bicycle and yelled, “You give me those papers!”
“No!” shrieked Ramona. “I want to deliver them. I’m a paperboy!”
Murph grabbed the papers. Ramona hung on and screamed. Faces began to appear in windows. Front doors opened, and the neighbors stepped outside to see what was happening. Tiger arrived on the scene, but he only lay down on the sidewalk and looked tired.
Henry rode a little closer to have a better view of the struggle. He could see that Murph was pretty embarrassed to have the whole neighborhood watch him tussling with a four-year-old with empty sunglass frames tied around her head. He did look pretty foolish—not a bit like a genius.
Murph jerked the papers away from Ramona. Kicking and howling, she threw herself on the sidewalk. “You give me back my papers!” she screamed.
“They aren’t your papers,” said Murph, his face and ears so crimson with embarrassment that Henry almost felt sorry for him, because he knew how exasperating Ramona could be. This time Murph did not yell, because he was trying to look dignified in front of the neighbors.
When Ramona beat her fists on the sidewalk, Henry could not help grinning. He could see that she was working up to a really good tantrum and that Murph, who was not used to her tantrums, wished he was a million miles away.
Then Beezus came running around the corner. “Ramona Quimby!” she said sternly. “You know you aren’t supposed to run off! Get up this very instant!”
Ramona screamed and kicked her heels on the cement, exactly the way Henry knew she would. “I’m sorry, Murph,” Beezus apologized. “I don’t know how she got away.”
Murph looked a little scared, as if somehow he were to blame for the scene. Hunching his shoulders as if he hoped to become invisible, Murph climbed on his bicycle with the papers, while Beezus grabbed her sister by the hand and tried to drag her to her feet. Ramona went so limp that she appeared to have no more bones than a rag doll. Beezus put her hands under Ramona’s arms and started dragging her toward home. Wearily Tiger rose to his feet and trotted after Murph.
When the girls were far enough away so that he would not have to speak to Murph, Henry rode up to Beezus. “Hi,” he said, above Ramona’s howls. “Need any help?”
“I don’t know what would do any good,” said Beezus, and Ramona stopped howling to listen. “Ramona insists she is going to deliver papers.”
“I’m a paperboy,” said Ramona. “I have to deliver papers.”
“You keep quiet,” snapped Beezus.
“She sure gave old Murph a bad time,” said Henry, trying not to show how entertained he had been.
Beezus sighed. “You know how Ramona is when she gets to pretending.”
“I know,” answered Henry, remembering the trouble he had had with Ramona during the paper drive, when she pretended she was a monkey. Oh, well, thought Henry, Murph will figure out a way to handle Ramona. Murph could do anything. That was the handy thing about being a genius.
The days that followed were difficult ones for Henry. He played with Nosy, brushed Ribsy, went swimming at the Y.—all the things he usually did—but something was wrong. Somehow he could not get interested in anything. If he were smart like Murph, he could invent a robot of his own to keep him busy, but the trouble was, he was not smart like Murph.
Then one afternoon when Henry was putting his bicycle in the garage, he was surprised to see Murph, with the empty Journal bag over his shoulders, riding up the driveway toward him. Now what can he want? Henry wondered, and cautiously decided to let Murph have the first word.
Murph came to the point at once. “You can have the route,” he said.
Henry was too surprised to speak.
Murph looked extremely uncomfortable. “I said you can have the route,” he repeated.
“You mean you don’t want it?” Henry asked incredulously.
“Nope,” said Mu
rph, as Tiger caught up with him and collapsed on the driveway, panting.
“How come?” asked Henry, finding it hard to believe that a boy who had a paper route would be willing to give it up.
“Ramona,” answered Murph.
“Ramona!” exclaimed Henry in disbelief. “She’s just a little kid!” A genius licked by a four-year-old! If he hadn’t been so surprised, Henry would have laughed out loud.
“I know,” said Murph miserably, “but she sure can make a lot of trouble.”
To keep from answering, Henry pretended to find something wrong with the chain on his bicycle. He wanted the route, all right. He had wanted it for weeks, and no matter how much trouble Ramona caused Murph, Henry did not intend to let any four-year-old girl stand in his way. It was not the thought of Ramona that kept him from answering. It was Mr. Capper. Henry was not sure the district manager would let him have the route.
Murph must have guessed what Henry was thinking, because he looked down at the driveway and said, “It’s all right with Mr. Capper.” Murph hesitated before he went on. “I asked him, and he said he would be glad to have you take the route.”
The route is mine, thought Henry in a daze. Mr. Capper said so.
Murph looked thoroughly miserable as he continued. “I guess I shouldn’t have taken the route when I knew you wanted it, but I just had to have it. Dad said my other route was too far away from home. I needed money to buy parts for Thorvo. Dad thinks Thorvo is a waste of time, so I have to earn the money for parts myself and…well, I just had to have the route. But I’ve been having so much trouble I probably would have lost the route, and anyway, I don’t want it. It takes all my time trying to straighten things out, and I don’t have any time left to work on Thorvo….” Murph’s voice trailed away, and he looked unhappily at Henry through his glasses.
Henry found himself feeling sorry for Murph, whether he wanted to or not. It must be hard to have a father who thought building a robot was a waste of time, and to have to wear glasses, and not to be a good ballplayer. Why, Murph didn’t even have a good dog like Ribsy. He only had tired old Tiger. And then Henry realized the importance of what Murph had said. The route was really his. “Sure, Murph,” he managed to say at last. “I’ll take the route.”
Henry and the Paper Route Page 7